Summary-the Lycanthropes band of mercenary sky knights land in the scorching city of Rithmere, center of one of Deltora's ten territories. A money theft leaves them desperate for income, and the seemingly innocent need kicks off a long journey into the dangerous desert known as the Shifting Sands, and the ancient threat at the center….

REALMS OF LUCK

Definitions

quinto=amihawkian money, paper like dollar bills. Depending on where it's printed, each is adorned with a different crest and pattern of the respective nation, but regardless is legal tender all over the world.

Basteredei-the Arsan term for bastard.

Eastern Union-one of Amihawk's two major political alliances. Allied countries in trade and arms are Deltora, Afrisia, Atmos, Skyberia, and Renim (reformed.)

races appearing in story-

varon-part of the terradon race, lizard humanoids with colorful scales, hair, and pointed ears.

Felisar-cat humanoids with the facial features of house cats, tails, and fur in thousands of patterns and colors.

Kerion-another at humanoid race, but resembling large felines like lions and tigers more, with broader muzzles, thicker tails, and larger ears.

Blizzarian-wolfish humanoids with bowed legs and stumpy tails.

Visorak-reptilian swamp creature about the size of a large dog.

CHAPTER ONE-

RITHMERE

Rithmere was thought of as many things by both native Deltorans and the world-heavily cultural, home of many great works of both artistry and architectural design, and above all, it was the place to go for games-games of chance and cards, dice, and any number of other activities. To a teenager, it was a dream place to go, to let go and have fun-even if there ended up being some minor debt.

But it was also known for being hot, located as it was in the central part of Deltora's landmass. The nearby desert was the most profound example of the searing hot weather, but the largely flat and rocky terrain helped emphasize the point perfectly well. The Lycanthropes Sky Knight and mercenary squadron had arrived here for supplies-and on the insistence of their resident pilot, whom felt that a upgraded coolant system for their ship was sorely needed.

All of them had their own opinions and ways of coping.

Personally, Fearon found the heat to be bearable. But since he was part of the terradon race, a higher tolerance wasn't altogether unexpected. Even so, he did find the intense sun to be uncomfortable after a time. A testament was that sweat had stuck his dark black hair to his brow. Streaks of gray marred it, making him look older than eighteen.

Fearon hadn't realized they had lost track of a certain person until he and Somra were standing by a window, looking at what had caught the leader's attention a moment before.

The sword sheath was edged by metal, with enforced leather sides. It was the kind of sheath made for ridged blades-like one of Fearon's two swords. More than that, it was decorated, small crescent moon shaped pieces of metal lining the metal edging. Alternating stripes of brown and dark brown streaked the leather.

Thinking of the specific sheath made him grimace. Fearon slipped his current one off and inspected the leading side again.

"Ridged blades need special sheaths, right?" he asked. He was part hoping that Somra would say he was wrong.

The resident weapons specialist shook her head sadly. She used one hand to toss her silver hair over one shoulder, and leaned forward to take a closer look. "Can I see?"

"Sure."

Somra took the sheath from him, and Fearon went back to staring at the one in the window. Laying the blunt leading edge of the sword on one palm and gripping the hilt in the other, he lined the weapon up with the sheath in the window.

He stared briefly, then looked back at the sword.

"Hmm. Yeah. This sheath is fraying in the back. The wear's coming from the notched edge, And it'll only get a hell worse as it goes on."

Reluctantly Fearon took his gaze away from the window. "That's what I was afraid of. But there's more about this one in particular that caught my eye."

Somra blinked, then raised a inquisitive eyebrow. The female varon wiped moisture of her eyebrow, colored midnight blue like the rest of her scales.

"What do you mean?"

"My dad said that the actual sheath for this guy was lost a long time ago." With one hand Fearon pointed at the sword he still held. He brushed dust from the road off his blue green tinted arm, then went back to talking. "They never found it again. This one matches the shape of this sword so well, it could only have been made for it. And that symbol on the side-it's in the hilt of this sword, too."

"Holy shit." Somra breathed, squinting at the sheath through the glass. Fearon's own head was reeling still from the surprise and rush of elation that something that others in his family had never found had turned up before him. He felt tempted to steal it, and knew he probably could, but had to resist the urge. The only ones he stole from now were bounty hunters and other miscreants. He wasn't one of them anymore. To earn merit as a Sky Knight-and a respectable person-he couldn't go snatching things from an antique shop. Fearon grit his teeth and banished the conniving thoughts. The reality was harsh, but true.

"Yeah. I'd like to get it...but there are problems."

"Like that this is an antique shop. Anything bought here will be highly expensive." Somra had read Fearon's early thoughts exactly.

The leader sighed sadly and looked into the window again. "Maybe we can haggle with the shop owner?"

Somra looked at him in amazement. "You really want it that much?"

"Yes," he snapped. "I do."

"Hold on," Somra had suddenly stiffened, glancing around furtively. "Where's a certain annoying bastard who shouldn't have been able to shut up about this?"

"Oh no," Fearon muttered under his breath. "He's probably gone to find Brendon..."

"And find Brendon's portion of the money," Somra exclaimed with growing horror. "And that's most of what we've got. I'll find him. You can go in and haggle."

Fearon was going to protest that as leader, he should go after the awol sharpshooter, but Somra had already dashed away. A tide of fury roiled behind her. Fearon shook his head, pitying Lehvahk when Somra found him, then entered the store.

His sensitive nose picked out old leather, paper and parchment, the distinctive smell of tarnished metal, and several other scents. Sunshafts filtered through the front windows, causing Fearon's eye to dance across many a metallic statue and several filigreed wooden boxes. He stopped for a moment, as the noises of the outside street seemed to become muted and distant. The entire shop had an archaic feel to it, like it had been frozen in time.

The presence of a computer to calculate prices seemed to be the only sign of modern times in here. Fearon shook his head and belined for the counter. He absently ran a hand along the fraying scabbard, then hissed when he nicked his fingers on the exposed teeth of the sword.

"Yach! Shit!"

Fearon licked at the cuts, then glared at his pockets when he realized he had no form of bandages with him. He was pondering tearing a strip of cloth from his shirt-gods knew it had been torn plenty of times by weapons and terrain in battle-but he was soon offered an alternative.

"Perhaps I may offer you an alternative to your shirt?"

Fearon looked up, startled. He hadn't heard the shop owner approach, but here he was. A felisar with a lines upon his catlike features, probably about in his forties.

"Uh, sure," he muttered, trudging up to the counter.

"Out of curiosity, how old are you?"

"I'm eighteen," Fearon snapped back, then mentally sighed when the shop owner blinked at his harshness. "Oh. Sorry, I'm just used to people mistaking my age."

"From the gray in your hair," the shop owner correctly guessed. "In any case, why are you really here?"

"You like getting to the point," Fearon muttered. "It's about my sword holster, and about replacing it." He took a deep breath. "I want to buy that one. Over there. And what's your name?"

"Methhar," the shopkeep muttered. Methhar craned his neck and peered past Fearon's shoulder, in the direction of where his gaze indicated. "That one, eh?"

"Yes."

"Tall order, depending on how much you have."

"Yes," Fearon said with a resigned sigh, "I know. But I really want it, and...well...I have feeling..."

Fearon trailed off near the end as he drew the sword in one swift motion and placed the old scabbard on the table. He held the weapon with the point to the floor, and feeling incredibly awkward and foolish tried again. "I'll haggle with you for it, if you do that-"

"That sword..."

Fearon blinked, wondering if he'd heard right. Why was the guy suddenly asking for his sword? Taken by a sudden feeling of possessiveness, Fearon clenched the hilt tighter. "Why?"

The shopkeeper's eyes had ignited with fierce excitement. Unnerved slightly, Fearon took a step backward, wondering if he should just back off altogether.

Then he berated himself for overeating. The man wasn't dangerous. Just at this point, probably...eccentric.

That didn't entirely make Fearon feel better.

"Please."

Methhar's voice had quieted. Now he sounded much more reasonable. With a brief hesitation, Fearon laid the sword on the counter.

The middle aged felisar stood, then ran his fingers lightly along the flat of the sword. Fearon noted with narrowed eyes that he didn't try to pick it up. The sunlight from the window filtered through, causing the blade to shine with a fierce silver glow. Looking at it, Fearon felt a sudden warmth in his chest. He couldn't tell if it was pride or desire to protect what was his.

The thought was different. In his crime ridden past Fearon had stolen plenty of things and fiercely protected his own, but this was a different feeling of protectiveness, like the sword was actually alive and they were the best of friends.

Next he would start thinking it was talking to him. The swordsman felt his lip twitch into a disturbed grimace. That idea was just too creepy.

"Do you have any idea what you have here?"

Fearon frowned at the shopkeeper's reverent tone. "A sword handed down to me?"

"Handed down?" Methhar paused. "Only one family has ever laid claim to this bade." He casually spun the weapon on the counter top, throwing beams of light across the ceiling. "What's your last name?"

"E...um," Fearon looked at his clenched hand awkwardly. It always left a bitter taste and a harsh sting behind when he talked about his family. He was not only the last one, but had become a disgrace by turning to the cutthroat side for a time-and now there were times when he felt so torn between his two sides that the pain became both mental and physical.

Regardless of that, clearly Methhar was expecting an answer. His bright eyes studied Fearon, reflecting the light like the animal he resembled. The shopkeeper tilted his head, wiry bangs flopping over his brow.

"Well?"

"...Redskye," Fearon finally admitted. The expected rush of guilt and overall depression nearly engulfed him, but it was always easier to dam it up in the presence of others. His mood lifted at the shopkeeper's next words.

"No wonder you want that holster, then. And no wonder this sword's yours now. Have you ever named it?"

"No," Fearon said uncertainly. He braced his palms on the edge of the counter, leaning to see his reflection in the shining Lunar Steel blade of his weapon. He saw the usual reflection of a varon teen with gray in his black hair and subtle lines that made him look a few years older than he was. He pressed his fingertips harder to the surface. The result of the young, lost seven year old, parents dead in a war.

The battle had been a dark day in history. The mountaintop nation Atmos had pleaded with their allies for help in a final strike against the empire of Cyclonia. Given that several other Eastern Union countries had been engulfed in their own turmoil, including Deltora, only a few squadrons of Sky Knights had been sent to help-and ended up never coming back.

Somehow the Red Wolves ship, the Strikeflier, had been found by the Lycanthrope's own pilot. Just how it had gotten away was a mystery-but it was one Fearon had always been thankful for. It was the last part of his early years to still exist.

He came back to reality upon seeing Methhar staring at him. "Um, sorry. Didn't mean to space out."

"Oh, that's fine. Memories are lucid. Back to the naming of your sword..." the felisar looked back down at them. "It's just as well that you didn't. It has a name, lost in the midst of time, which I only know through my keen interest and study of famous weapons. And on top of that, another sword meant to be paired with it." Methhar blinked down at the sword with clear admiration.

"Another sword?" A image of his second weapon-smooth edged, gleaming just as brightly as the blade currently before him, flashed in Fearon's mind's eye. "How do I tell, I mean..."

"If it's a pair? Both swords have the emblem of the Fireflare Territory's flag on the hilts."

When his mind processed that, Fearon nearly forgot how to breathe. "My other sword has that."

Methhar looked thoroughly stunned. "What? You... Kharash and Syraphe."

"What?"

"The names of your swords, boy," the old shopkeeper snapped. His eyes gleamed with humor anyway. "Kharash is dragon's fang, the ridged blade. Syraphe is moon's edge, the perfectly cut twin. The holster in the window is meant for Kharash." Methhar handed the weapon back to Fearon, who took it in a kind of dazed stupor. "I'll give you it for free."

Fearon was certain he looked like a dumbstruck idiot when he stuttered in response. "Um-what?"

"It's meant to be." The shopkeeper shrugged. "Who am I to deny fate?" He made a impatient gesture at the door. "Now off with you."

Fearon nodded numbly.

Upon leaving the shop with the new holster slung over his shoulder and occupied by Kharash, he stood staring past the buildings for a little while into the blue sky.

He'd never even considered the possibility his blades were legends, but somehow it filled a place inside him with contentment. He had never felt comfortable naming either sword, as if doing it would remove their identity.

Now Fearon realized how close he had been to the truth. The weapons did already have names, and he hadn't named them himself for fear of taking those away.

Kharash and Syraphe. The names settled well in Fearon's mind.

His moment of peace was broken by a shadow. It was vaguely humanoid, dark-and when Fearon whirled to see it, the thing had disappeared. The prickings of the shadow's gaze hadn't, though. Whatever it was had been watching him.

Fearon shivered from the sudden draft of cold, a completely unnatural thing in the burning desert lands of Deltora's warmest territory during the height of summer. Whatever it was had been watching him. And what made it worse was Fearon had no idea if it was friendly, or some specter bent of revenge.

And he had plenty of those who could come after him. Any person he had helped kill in his criminal days, including the innocent.

He remained standing stock still there, staring at the brick wall of the alley. Fearon bit his lip and willed his trembling to stop.

It was just some silhouette against the wall. Probably the result of his sleepless night, when he's been obsessively pouring over their money matters.

He didn't realize how much worse it could get until Somra called him. Fearon clicked open the phone, and was greeted with a few simple sentences.

"I've got a lead on him."

"You don't sound happy. What lead?"

"People I've talked to saw someone of Lehvahk's appearance heading toward the Champion Inn." Somra's voice sounded both disgusted and panicked. "Brendon was engrossed in the books in a bookstore, and Lehvahk snitched the money from him. I think he's out to gamble."

"...shite."

Fearon clicked the phone shut and ran for his skimmer. Then he roared off on the motorcycle/biplane machine, the shadow on the wall momentarily forgotten.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The shopkeeper stared at the door for some time. With a tired sigh, he sat back down behind the counter.

The door jingled again. Methhar looked up abruptly. A familiar presence had just entered the room, along with his physical embodiment-a tall kerion, with a ragged three pronged scar across the side of his face. One eye stared blankly, the other alive. The long dark trench coat was covered in desert dust.

"What did you do? Walk all the way here?"

"Close, but not quite." The kerion advanced further until his looming shadow cut across the counter. Methhar hit a key on his computer, allowing it to start calculating loans. He had an old friend to focus on.

Crossing his arms and standing, he tilted his chin up further to peer into the one blazing eye of the newcomer. With a feral smile, the other humanoid tossed his ragged, dark mane over his shoulder.

"So, what did you think of the young one? He is the next generation."

"I think that he shows promise. How many other paths have you interfered with, Rettak?"

Rettak's lips pulled into a knowing grin. "You say that like it's a bad thing….look, I was employed by Rioka to do this. The stream of destiny is something I need to monitor." Rettak's face suddenly darkened, one good eye narrowing. "But admittedly, when I saved Fearon's life, it wasn't because it had to be me."

"So it could have been anything else?" Methhar shook his head. "Quite the piece of work, you are."

"Anything else would have saved him, had I not been there. Someone else, anything else. This much my patron and destiny's flow revealed. I helped Fearon personally since I felt I owed his father-I needed to guide him back, or it would haunt me for infinity."

Methhar grimaced. This man had been less complicated when he'd been a plain old mortal. "Well then, get to it. I have other things to do with my time."

Rettak laughed. "I have a destiny in another dimension to monitor for now. It is a turbulent time for the owner of that destiny." He dipped his head, then seemed to fade into sunlight. "But keep in mind, I will be back..."

This is the first chapter of quite a few months of work. I'd really like feedback, just to know if people are actually reading this and enjoying it. I'm hoping I got the characters appearances and personalities across well, and didn't make things too confusing.

Pls review :D